


The Inevitable Downward

by Actually_Crowley



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Deadlights (IT), F/M, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Crowley/pseuds/Actually_Crowley
Summary: Where all of the other surviving Losers seem to have not only gotten back on their feet but have hit the ground running, Richie seems to have fallen into a pit of dispair with no bottom.  As his friends work to try and help him recover, Richie can't help but feel it's all in vain when he begins seeing things.  He is haunted, and he deserves it.





	1. Visitor

Beverly knew it would take years to stop fearing her cell phone going off.

Ever since leaving Derry for the last time, she had tried her best to believe that her prophetic visions of death weren’t going to come true anymore; It was gone forever. The poison in their souls was cleansed in those damn sewers and the quarry. Those futures had been stopped. And yet, when her phone went off with the name of a Loser, she was always afraid she was about to hear from someone that another friend had passed away.

She had been wrong every time. She counted. Two months in, and she had seven calls from Bill, six from Mike, and several dozen scattered texts from Richie, and they were all alive and well in each one. Obviously she knew of Ben’s wellbeing since they’d been living together for the months that followed, but she still had trouble when he had to be off. She wandered the home alone, having been told nothing was off limits, and worried.

Worry, worry, worry. She was a professional at this point.

At least, she didn’t have to worry about her ex-husband. She’d filed for divorce and drew up papers, and Ben had ensured that his very expensive and very intimidating lawyer had been the one to deliver those papers, as well as a photo of the bruises on her arms in the event that Tom wanted to try, even once, to fight. She left him everything-- the company, the house, the money. There was no reason for him to risk losing all of that for her. He wouldn’t fight that hard. Not like Ben would.

But, she still worried.

Rain poured outside, and Ben was due back any minute. It wasn’t a heavy rain, but she still racked her brain to try and remember if any of those horrible death scenarios involved Ben carreening his car off the road in a storm. She wished she could stop running them through her head, but at least now it was her own choice; _ It _ had nothing to do with it anymore.

The front door unlocked and drifted open right on time to the tune of Bev’s relieved sigh. “Oh thank God,” She mumbled, rubbing the worry from her forehead before working up a smile and exiting the office.

Ben was shutting the door and shuffling off his wet coat when she rounded the corner. “That rain doesn’t wanna let up,” Ben said as soon as he caught sight of Bev and the smile lit up in his eyes. “We may have to rethink the sushi place tonight.”

Bev crossed her arms and smirked at him. “You’re going to let a little water stop you from getting a good dragon roll?”

Ben snickered and ran his hands over his wet hair as he kicked off his shoes. “Uh, no, but I’ll definitely let _ cold _ water do the job. Dragon rolls are not worth pneumonia.”

And with that, Bev’s smile softened. “You’re starting to sound like Eddie.”

Ben didn’t miss a stride as he paced carefully to Bev and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “He’d appreciate that someone is keeping it up.”

“He’d appreciate that it’s you.” Bev tilted her head to turn the kiss to his lips.

She felt Ben grin against her. “Who else would it be?” His hands found her sides--

And she squawked, batting him away. “Hands!” she yelped, flinching and taking a step back. There was humour in her face for all of two seconds before nerves took over. “Sorry, you’re hands are just _ freezing,” _ she explained quickly.

Ben’s smile never left his face. Where Tom might have gone dangerously blank, Ben had shifted from happy to _ mischief. _ “Oh- Oh _ these _ hands?” He asked, lifting the back of one to the side of her chin.

Bev yelped and flinched away from him again and laughed. “Don’t you dare,” She warned around a grin.

“But I can’t feel my fingers, Bev. I’ve gotta put them somewhere warm or they’ll fall off.” He wiggled his fingers in front of him and crept toward her as she swatted at them.

“Go take a hot shower then, you icicle!”

Ben launched forward and tickled his frigid fingers against her sides and ribs, and Bev’s laughter filled the house. She struggled without any power behind her blows as Ben’s hands trailed chills up her back and dotted ice to her bare neck. She kept laughing and kept wobbling backward--

Until her foot caught carpet and she tumbled. Ben was pulled after her, but he caught her and swung her around so when they landed, Ben was on his back and Bev was half on top of him.

“Sorry!” Bev managed once she had the equilibrium to focus again. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where--”

Her shirt collar was hooked loosely by a finger and her words were shushed by Ben’s lips as she was tugged into a kiss. It was soft, and deep, and Bev felt like she didn’t need air as long as Ben was breathing life into her. She blinked when he slowly pulled away and couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from ticking up. “What was that for?”

“Because you’re apologizing again,” Ben said. “You don’t have to.”

Bev closed her eyes and pursed her lips. That was another habit she was trying her best to break. She never paid much attention to her own words so much until Ben pointed out that she apologized significantly more than she needed to. “Right,” she said, squeezing the bridge of her nose for a second. “Right. Sorr-Mmph!”

Ben had lifted his head and bumped their lips together again. “Just gonna keep kissing you until you stop.”

Bev laughed again. “So my punishment for apologizing too much is a kiss every time I try? I think you need a lesson in how positive reinforcement is supposed to work.” Her heart felt light. It fluttered in place like a moth and she leaned her forehead down against Ben’s. He’d been nothing but a delight since she’d moved in, and not once did she feel like she was being ‘handled’. Ben wasn’t doing the things he was doing to fulfill some sort of protector roll, or to fix her; he was just letting her exist, and gently redirecting her when she fell into old patterns. He’d already had to remind her that she didn’t have to text him her whereabouts whenever she went out. She had no curfew, she didn’t have to call after not being in touch for a few hours, and Ben was never going to question any mundane decision. He needed no explanations.

And he had been that way since they were children. It was a perfect memory to hang onto. Just them, being.

“It’s not too early to say I love you, right?”

“I’ve been wearing it on my sleeve for twenty-seven years, so no. I think you’re allowed.” Ben nuzzled their noses together. “I love you too.”

Two rooms away, Beverly’s cell phone sang to life, and her insides coiled. Her head snapped up, and she scrambled to force herself to her feet, leaning hard on a startled Ben’s shoulder to leverage herself up. “Sorry!” she said after he winced.

“Hey! No fair apologizing when I’m on the floor!”

Bev laughed as she hurried away to the office. “You owe me one then!”

Her smile faltered only as she was out of his view in the office, snatching up her phone and checking the ID.

Richie Tozier.

She answered immediately. “Richie?” She couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice, as always. Richie was the one person out of the five of them left that she was worried about the most. They’d all lost something when they returned to Derry, but Richie had taken it the hardest. Not a single step out of that house, out of those sewers, had been his own. He’d fought them all, tooth and nail to get back to Eddie. He’d wanted to be in those caverns with Eddie when it all came down. It was clear to everyone.

_ “Why do you always sound like you’re fresh from a marathon when you pick up?” _ Came Richie’s response, filling Bev to the brim with relief again.

She rubbed her temple and sighed. “I left the phone across the house, I wanted to get to it before you hung up,” she offered, smiling despite concerns. Richie wasn’t a big caller. He texted more than anything, and the presence of a call made her nervous. “How are you doing?” she asked, trying to avoid sounding like she was fishing for specific answers.

_ “I’m great! Better than great, actually, because guess who’s in your town?” _

Bev lifted her gaze to the doorway as Ben rounded into the office as well. “You’re in Newport?”

This had Ben’s attention as he wandered in to listen. Bev switched the phone to speaker just as Richie spoke again. _ “Sure am! Well, I was in Portland, actually, but it was two skips from you guys, so I figured I’d swing by.” _

Ben arched an eyebrow at Bev and eyed the phone. “That’s over two hours away, Rich.”

_ “Oh, hey, Ben! Look at that, I got the whole it-couple. Ha! Shit, I’ll let you smack me for that one. What would your Hollywood couple name be? Hamarsh? Marscom? No, I know, it’d be ‘Benverly’.” _

“Beep beep, Richie,” Ben said, looking about as on edge as Bev. “You drove two hours to get here from Portland? What were you doing in Portland?”

There was a short, clipped sigh on the other line. _ “I caught an Uber. Relax, you mother hen. I had a gig out here. No way was I leaving the state without getting in your hair like a bad money shot.” _

Ben cringed and rolled his eyes as Bev snorted. She leaned against Ben’s shoulder. “How long are you in town?”

There was a pause. _ “Uh, a week? I dunno, it’s up in the air. I’m at this place called ‘Rogue Ales’ right now. I did not know what a marionberry was until this moment, but lemme tell you, I am in love.” _

Bev bit her lip as Ben lifted his worried gaze to hers. “The bar?” Ben asked.

_ “No, I have stowed away in a delivery truck. I’m in the warehouse, in the rafters with a keg, and there’s this cop on the ground waving a beatstick at me- _ Yes, _ the bar, where else would I be?” _ Richie’s voice sounded like he was struggling to keep an air of humor over something deeper-- something _ sadder. _

Ben checked his watch. “Have you got a ride to your hotel? That place closes in an hour.”

_ “Er,” _ Richie mumbled. _ “I don’t have a hotel yet. Actually. But don’t worry, I’ll get one! It’s good, I’m fine. You guys should get here though, I’m gonna drain this place of this weird berry beer before you get to try any.” _

Bev closed her eyes. “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” she promised.

_ “I’ll save you some seats!” _ And with that, Richie hung up.

The two of them stared at the phone for longer than they meant to. Ben spoke first. “Did that seem odd to you?”

“Richie drinking? Not really,” Bev answered honestly. “Richie having a show so close by and not _ telling _ us about it? Yeah, I’m worried.”

“I’ll get the car started.”

“I’ll get changed.”

Ben split back to the front door of the house as Beverly wandered away to their bedroom, going through her closet and pulling out some slacks and a shirt. Her worry was alive and well again, bubbling in her chest and threatening to overflow in her eyes.

She hoped she was wrong. She hoped there was just a misunderstanding, and Richie hadn’t invited them to the show because it was sold out. Maybe he was just in town for what he said, and he was being very sweet traveling this far to see them.

Maybe nothing was wrong at all.

~

Richie’s smile fell away fast as soon as he hung up the phone. He’d made a career out of being able to smile over every other emotion he was feeling, but hell if those old feelings hadn’t been the easiest to hide in comparison to what he was feeling now. Old him didn’t have twenty seven years of repressed trauma to think about. Old him had yet to lose anybody close to him. Old him hadn’t had to wash the blood of the love of his life from the lens of his glasses in a quarry. Old him could face audiences and lie out of his ass until the paycheck cleared.

Old Richie died with Eddie in that cave.

New Richie found that he was always two steps away from crying. He was one fleeting glance at a short, dark head of hair away from a panic attack, and he didn’t feel like he could breathe properly anymore. It all felt so forced-- mechanical.

Nobody expected anybody to get over the death of a friend in a few short months, but it took even longer when someone had so little left to distract them. Bill had his wife, and his new, happier stories to look forward to. Mike was finally free of the prison of his own making and probably making a life for himself in Miami somewhere. Ben and Beverly were living together, and Richie would be offended if he wasn’t Bev’s man of honor at their hypothetical, nigh inevitable, near-future wedding.

Richie had to go back to a career based around lies written for him, and he had to go back alone. Not that he _ had _ gone back yet, which was why his phone was chock full of voicemails and texts from his manager, all unanswered. He’d barely been in touch since he left for Derry. He wasn’t sure he could ever go back to it now. His heart just wasn’t in it.

His heart was under the wreckage of the Neibolt house. He’d never get it back.

He thumbed the rim of his can of beer, bending the tab at the top of it. “You’d rant about the state of my liver, I bet,” he mumbled to himself and to a man who could no longer hear him. “You’d warn me my blood alcohol level’s gonna leave my ass anemic, bleeding in a ditch somewhere.”

_ ‘Anemia’s not even the right word, dumbass.’ _ Eddie would correct him. _ ‘You’re more likely to get alcohol poisoning or have a stroke before you bleed out.’ _

“Maybe the stroke will make me forget. Money’s still on bleeding out, though. That’d be easier.”

_ ‘Unless your blood clots and you end up in the hospital. Then it’s infections, gangrene, and amputation.’ _

Richie smiled weakly at the bar top. “I could use that as an excuse to not perform. Not really seeing the downside, Eds.”

A glass of ice water was plunked in front of him suddenly, throwing off his train of thought. Richie blinked at the bartender. “Oh I wanted another Ale.”

“And I’m cutting you off,” the woman answered.

Richie scoffed at her. “What? I’m barely three ales in, come on.”

“You’re five in, and I don’t serve alcohol to people carrying whole conversations with themselves. Drink the water,” She tapped the bar, a motherly look in her stern eyes, “And call a ride.” Then, she walked away to tend to the next guest.

Richie gave a halfhearted scowl at her retreating back but let her carry on. He drained what was left of his last berry ale and then stared at the water like it was offending him.

_ ‘You’re gonna have a hangover if you don’t drink it,’ _ warned the Eddie in his head.

“You’re probably right,” Richie whispered, tugging the water over and lifting it to his lips. His limbs felt heavy. The water felt heavy. He was so goddamn tired. He set the glass aside and hung his head low, letting it rest on the countertop under his clasped hands.

He heard the sounds of the stools on either side of him being occupied, but he didn’t bother looking to see who’d joined him. Things were swimming, and he couldn’t move. It wasn’t until he felt a hand cover his own that he turned his head and found Bev there. “Eeey’, you made it!” He lifted his head and turned to the other side and beamed when he saw Ben. They’d flanked him, and that comforted him in a way. “Barkeep! A round for my dear friends!” he said, snapping his fingers. “And none for me, obviously, since you cut me off.”

Beverly held her hand up to the bartender. “We’re fine, thank you.” She gave the bartender a _ look, _ and the woman responded with a nod. Bev ran her hand down Richie’s back. “I think we ought to get you home.”

“L.A.’s kind of a long drive,” Richie said, wobbling as he gazed at the bar top again.

“Not your home, stupid. Ours. We’re five minutes away.” Ben thumbed at the door.

Richie blinked up at him and shook his head. “What? No, no, I’ll just get a hotel. It’s not a big deal.”

Ben leaned his elbow on the bar. “You are not dealing with a hotel when I’ve got two spare rooms, Richie.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Bev insisted, standing and curling an arm under Richie’s. “I promise you our beds are better than anything you’ll find at a hotel.”

“Maybe a few butts,” Richie mumbled, head lulling to look at the ground. “Ben’s got a nice butt, for one.”

Ben snorted and ducked under his other arm after sliding some money onto the counter behind them. “Guess I should appreciate the sentiment.”

“You’re real lucky, Bev,” Richie continued. He could feel his grip on his emotions beginning to wane, so the best thing he could do was just ramble. “OG Ben woulda been a catch too, seriously. Most comfortable human being to snuggle. But I guess trading off for the ‘Mr. January’ of the hot CEO calendar ain’t all bad. Brick wall build aside.”

He heard Bev laugh, and he smiled despite how miserable he felt.

They moved outside, the air still brisk from the rain that had only just let up and left the road shiny. The alcohol was making it hard to focus on anything but the soaked ground as his feet began to move across it of their own accord. It was either stumble forth, or force his friends to drag him.

Not two months prior, he was in a similar position, albeit facing the other way and trying desperately to go back, Eddie’s name ripping its way from his mouth over and over as if it would do any good.

Richie’s stomach felt like it had choreographed an entire gymnastics routine as soon as they cleared the front door of the establishment. He went rigid and yanked his arms free from his friend’s holds. _ “Shit-” _ He barely managed to scramble to a nearby trash can before the inevitable upheaval of everything he’d eaten in the last several hours (which wasn’t much). He gripped the edge of the trash can like his life depended on it and just stood there over it, coughing to clear his throat when it was over. As he gasped slowly for air again, he felt Bev’s hands wander to his back, rubbing him between the shoulder blades. “...Didn’t even have that much…” Richie mumbled.

“Have you eaten, honey?” She asked, tilting her head to be in his peripheral.

** _“Honey, he’s dead…”_ **

Richie squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears eeking out that he could easily blame on the impromptu sickness. “...Had a sandwich earlier.”

He felt Bev’s fingers on his face, lifting him away from the bin and wiping the tears away. “I’m going to go get you some more water.”

Richie gave a weak nod. “Prob’ly best.”

As Bev left, Ben tucked up under his arm again, too gently, too sweetly, just as he’d always been since they were kids, and helped him to the car. Richie’s feet weren’t even that unsteady. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as even he had assumed he was, but nothing in his body wanted to do anything right. It would have been quite happy if Bev and Ben had laid him along a ditch and left him there.

Instead, Ben pulled open the back door of their car and carefully settled Richie down into the seat. He allowed him to lean out over the pavement. “You feel like you might have to throw up again?”

Richie shook his head slowly.

“Okay. Are you dizzy?”

“Not s’bad.”

“All right. I gotcha, buddy.” Ben’s hand was firm and grounding on his shoulder.

Richie could only snort and grin through whatever haze of agony he was in. “‘Gotcha, buddy’.” He giggled.

He looked up in time to catch a smile on Ben’s face-- a knowing, sad smile. “Why are you in Oregon, Rich?”

Richie’s grin fell. “I told you, man. I had a show in Portlan-”

“I’m gonna ask you that question again, and I need you not to lie this time,” Ben said, sounding like a disappointed parent. “Why are you in Oregon?”

Richie scoffed like he was offended, but he knew it came out weak. “The fuck makes you think I’m lying? Huh? I had a gig, I did the gig, I came to see you because I love you guys.”

Ben didn’t even blink. “You didn’t have a gig. I looked it up on the way here. All the dates on your website are marked as cancelled, and none of them were even meant to be on the west coast.” He knelt on the ground, just in front of Richie’s knees, and took his hands in his. That knowing look never left Ben’s eyes. “Why are you in Oregon?”

Richie stared back. His lips were pursed as he tried to think of another lie, another way to throw him off the trail, but the alcohol, Ben’s warm hands, and the overall feeling of worthlessness and sorrow were working against him. His expression held fast, but tears welled over his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “...I didn’t know where else to go.” He barely heard his own voice.

Ben lifted a hand to Richie’s face, and Richie leaned heavily into it. He finally closed his eyes, and the hand that Ben had released snapped to his mouth. It could only just muffle the sob that ripped its way out of his throat.

Immediately, he felt himself yanked into Ben’s sturdy shoulder, which did a much better job of silencing him than his hand. His glasses were forced up over his forehead and into his hair, and Ben rubbed his back. Ben said nothing, perhaps unable to think of anything _ to _ say, but Richie felt grateful for it. He knew the prying questions were probably coming, but they didn’t have to come now.

“You’re the most comfortable brick wall I’ve ever laid on,” Richie managed, between sobs.

He felt Ben chuckle, but he didn’t move. They stayed that way until Bev got back with the water, signalling her return by running her fingers through Richie’s hair. “Here. Drink this. Get that taste out of your mouth,” she said, also too gently.

Ben helped Richie sit back, and Bev handed him a cup with a straw and lid. Richie took it with trembling hands and let the cool water soothe his throat, now raw from grief. Bev’s hand remained on his shoulder, and Ben’s had found his knee. He drank until the cup was half empty before passing it back to Bev. She set it in the cup holder of the door and lifted Richie’s face to look at her. She was just as beautiful as ever, even more than she’d always been before with the glow of happiness and relief she felt from being with Ben for the past couple of months. Somehow Richie’s pain didn’t tarnish it one bit, and that made her glow to him even more. “Let’s get you home, okay?” she said, to which Richie could only hiccup and nod.

“I’ll drive,” said Ben, squeezing that knee before he lifted Richie’s legs the rest of the way into the car.

Bev shut the door, but rather than round to the front passenger seat, she opened the opposite door and slid in the back. Richie let himself be tugged into her shoulder now, just as sturdy and just as comforting as Ben’s had been, and he breathed. It was shaky, and unsure, but it was finally evening out.

They drove in silence. Bev’s hands traced designs into his back, little paisleys of love and damasks of affection. He listened to her heartbeat when his head fell to her chest, and she held him there. Her breathing was easy as well, but Richie could feel it hitch. She was trying to keep it soft for him. So, he breathed right along with her until they matched.

He walked himself blindly up to their front door, but each hand held a friend’s. He might have made some crack about Ben living large in a glass house, maybe a comment about stones, but he had no humour to give-- not right now.

He was puppeted through the beautiful house, led into a room with a bed he was sure was not the largest one in the house. He was sat on the edge, his shoes and jacket removed, and stood up again. He was shown a bathroom, complete with a mouthwash, unopened toothbrush, and several soaps and shampoos. Apparently Ben was always ready to entertain. Or, as it were, house depressed comedians fresh off the streets.

He brushed his teeth. He swished the mouthwash until the taste of alcohol and marionberry was a distant memory. He changed into a shirt and pajama pants Ben had found for him, both hilariously big on his lanky form. He did everything he could to avoid looking at himself, at least at first.

It wasn’t until he splashed frigid water onto his face and put his glasses back on that he looked up.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in years. His hair was unkempt, and his skin was pale. He desperately needed a shave, but he’d stopped over a week ago when those razors began looking a little too friendly, and Stan’s solution seemed a little too appealing. His eyes were sunken and swollen. He looked and felt like he’d begun crying two months ago and hadn’t stopped since. That wasn’t entirely untrue.

There was a light tap on the bathroom door, which he hadn’t locked. He gave a small grunt in response, and Bev wandered in, in her own pajamas. She asked no questions and made no comments as she redirected Richie’s gaze from his face to her own. She tugged him down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing his eyes to drop closed and shed the tears they’d been holding back. “You need rest,” she said, a loving command hidden beneath an equally loving suggestion. Richie didn’t fight it as she tugged him out of the room and back to the bed.

Ben, also now clad in his pajamas, had already thrown the blankets back and was busy fluffing the last pillow as Richie planted a knee on the mattress. To his surprise, as he settled into the center of the bed, Bev and Ben climbed right on in after him. Bev pulled his glasses off for him, handing them to Ben. She then laid with her back to Richie, but tugged his arm around her waist. Ben tucked in behind him and threw his arm around them both once he’d pulled the blankets back up. Against the chill of the room and the cold in his bones from the November air, Richie finally felt warmth seeping in. Ben’s nose was buried in his neck, and Bev’s hair braced his chin. They had him pressed between their bodies to provide him with as much comfort as he could handle and more.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut. The broken, breathy sobs returned, and his friends held him tight. They held on and did not let up once. They asked nothing. They didn’t try and shush him. They were just there for him, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to thank them for it.

“...I miss him so much,” he finally said, his voice shattered and ragged and wispy against what it usually was.

“We know, Richie,” whispered Bev in response as she lifted the hand she’d captured to her lips.

Ben rubbed his forehead against the back of Richie’s head in a snuggle. “He’s still with you. You’ve _ gotta _ know he’s still with you.”

Richie sobbed again, burying his face fully in Bev’s hair. She rubbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and Ben pressed closer until Richie was sure he could count the muscles beneath his skin. They continued to hold tight, fighting Richie’s agony with their love for him, and all he could do was cry.

~

Richie couldn’t say when he’d fallen asleep. His head and eyes felt heavy and hot and told him that he’d likely been curled there between his friends sobbing for hours before exhaustion took him. All he knew was that there was sunlight streaming in from the windows through the trees outside. The room was beautifully decorated, the bed was huge, and everything felt warm and inviting. The spot in the bed in front of him was also warm. Bev had seemingly vacated mere moments ago, leaving her loving warmth behind.

And also her boyfriend. Ben was still wrapped around Richie like a beefy octopus. That, and the leftover warmth from Bev, were a pleasant reminder in Richie’s haze of grief. He was so, so loved. He had support now. No fake friends or agents or managers who swore they had his best interest in mind and then still wanted him to go through a tour after having lost two of his childhood friends in the course of a few days.

Not that it made it hurt any less.

He heard Ben snuffle once and groan, tilted his head down and burying his face in the back of his neck. One of his hands rubbed up and down Richie’s arm, and somehow he knew it wasn’t just a case of mistaken identity. Somehow he knew it was a comforting gesture meant for him.

“How’s your head, Rich?” Ben asked directly into his spine.

Richie snorted. “Calcified and then thrown into a wood chipper.”

“And metaphorically?”

“...About the same.”

He felt Ben nod, and finally the warmth withdrew. Ben had slid away to the edge of the bed and stretched his arms high, tilting his spine every which way to work out the kinks from sleeping in one position all night.

Richie flopped onto his back and covered his eyes with his hand. “Yeah, I shoulda warned you I’d be an uncomfortable bedmate. I’m all bones and knobby bendy bits.”

_ ‘Pretty sure that’s malnutrition. Eat a fucking salad for once, trashmouth,’ _ chided his mental Eddie.

Still his words made Ben chuckle. “Doesn’t matter what you’re made of when you need a hug,” Ben said, standing with a soft grunt and reaching his hand out to help Richie up. “Bet you want coffee.”

“Oh fuck me, yes _ please.” _ Richie snatched the offered hand and, sure enough, was hauled up and out of the bed like he was a bundle of sticks. He winced against his own train of thought and opted instead to focus on Ben. “Jesus, I knew you’d been working out, but having the ability to chuck me around like a wet rag is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Ben only smirked at him. “Well when you stop weighing the same as a chihuahua, it won’t be an issue.” He plucked Richie’s glasses from the bedside table and handed them to him.

Richie’s mouth dropped open in a mockery of shock as he took the glasses. “When the hell did you get _ mean?” _

He was led out into a kitchen that was just as inviting as the guest room. Mugs were hung out in the open for easy access (seven hooks for seven mugs, Richie noted as his chest threatened to cave in all over again), and the coffee maker was some high end, single serve _ or _ full pot brewer he’d seen in magazines. Richie eyed the many options Ben had available in their little capsules, but his attention was drawn away as a warm mug was pressed into his hands. Bev was at the other end, smiling too softly at him. “Here you go, big guy.”

Richie smiled back, but all at once, he knew that there was something heavy hanging in the air. Last night had happened. Richie attempted to lie, was caught, broke down, and now here they were. He knew they hadn’t pried the night before because he was vulnerable and upset, but there was no stopping them now. They were worried about him.

He wished they’d fucking stop it.

“Here,” Ben said behind him, having snuck up with a bottle of aspirin. “Even if you _ hadn’t _ been drinking, your head must be a war zone right now.”

Richie took the bottle gratefully. “Yeah, all this pesky, healthy, natural light you’ve got going on in here is gonna be the death of me.”

Bev laughed, a light little noise, and leaned her hip on the counter. “Did you sleep okay?”

Richie had set the mug down for a moment and dumped a few aspirin into his hand, necking them back dry. “That may have been my best sleep in months. Not gonna lie.” He took a sip of his black coffee with a wince and set the cup back down. “I’m serious, if you guys are looking for some full-time, emotional support meat to your cuddle sandwich, I’m your guy.”

Laughter again. All Richie wanted to do was ease the tension, but every time the laughter faded, the weight came back, making him feel like he was walking in soup. Bev brought her hand to his cheek. “Richie… We should talk about last night.”

Richie inhaled slowly through his nose and turned away from that hand to the counter. “I don’t want to talk about last night,” he said, his voice not nearly as commanding as he was hoping.

“The last thing we want to do is push you,” Ben said, leaning on the kitchen island. “But you came to Oregon alone and called _ us.” _

“Maybe I just wanted to hang out with my friends, huh?” Richie began opening cabinets to nose around for creamer or other coffee condiments. “Not many other places I could go, and I had the time free.”

_ “Richie,” _ Bev started, but Richie’s unsteady grip lost hold of a cabinet door and shut it too hard. He set his fists down on the counter and took a sharp breath.

_ “What?” _

** _“Honey, he’s dead.”_ **

Richie flinched so viscerally at the memory that Bev lurched forward and caught his shoulders. She tilted her head down to make her way into Richie’s line of sight again, which had dropped to the floor. “We’re here for you. A part of you knows that, and it’s not the part of you that’s refusing to talk to us. It’s the part of you that came all the way here and called me. Okay?” She reached up and soothed his cheek. “Make your coffee. Take a breath. And come meet us in the living room. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

Richie shut his eyes tightly, blocking her dangerously careful face from his view, and nodded. “Fine…” He sniffed once and looked over at the counter.

Bev’s smile returned, and she kissed his cheek. She then took her and Ben’s mugs from where they were sitting, steaming in the sunbeams cascading through the window, and led Ben out of the kitchen.

Richie gripped the countertop too hard and swallowed thick. Of course this was coming. He _ knew _ it was coming. There was no way that last night could have happened without them having some questions in the morning, but he was absolutely terrified of opening this particular can of worms.

“Fantastic,” he mumbled to himself, shifting through the cabinets again and finding the salt. He needed his coffee to taste like fucking coffee, or he was going to lose his mind. “Sure, call them, they totally won’t want answers. Fucking stupid brain. Piece of shit.” He shook a pinch of salt into his hand and dumped it into his mug, finding a spoon and stirring it. “They probably already think you’re fucking crazy, talking to yourself…” He lifted the mug again.

“Pretty sure they’ll only think you’re crazy if they find out you just put salt in your coffee, dumbass.”

The voice had frozen Richie’s mug on its way to his lips. His eyes went wide and bored too hard into the counter. That voice hadn’t come from his head. But it couldn’t possibly have come from across the kitchen where he heard it. It wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t possible for Eddie to have just chastised him for his coffee choices. It wasn’t possible for his voice to be so _ loud, _ and _ present. _ It wasn’t possible. It _ wasn’t fucking possible. _ Richie slowly lifted his head.

Eddie stood there, in the same wet clothes he’d died in, arms crossed over the gaping wound in his chest, and skin still pale from blood-loss. When Richie’s stare locked onto him, he suddenly looked as shocked as Richie felt.

The mug slipped from Richie’s grip and shattered on the tile floor.

~


	2. Guilt is Heavier than Grief

Richie dropped to the floor, kicking away from the apparition and pressing himself against a cabinet door. The visage of Eddie stuttered once and took a step toward him. If the dead man said anything else, Richie couldn’t hear it over the thrum of his own heart and the blood rushing through his veins.

“Richie!?” Bev’s voice is the next immediate sound Richie’s ringing ears hear. His head snapped to her as she hurried into the kitchen again, probably not even having gotten the chance to sit down. “What happened? You were screaming, and-”

Richie reached up and grabbed her arms with hands no steadier than dead leaves on a windy day. “Do you see it? Do you _ see him?” _ He asked, eyes wide and glasses feeling like they were ready to fall off his face.

He watched Bev turn her head in several directions, giving the room a solid once-over before returning to Richie. “See what? See _ who?” _

Richie blinked and turned back to where Eddie was standing.

There was now nothing else upon the kitchen floor but spilled coffee and glass shards. “Wha-... No, he was-... He was right there, he--”

“Richie, you’re bleeding,” came Ben’s alarmed voice.

Richie looked up, seeing that Ben must have been right behind Bev as she came rushing in. He then looked down at his feet, and sure enough, in his stumbling scramble to get away from the vision, he’d apparently made sure to tread on every tiny piece of glass he could along the way. “Oh. So I am.” His voice was wavering, either from shock or adrenaline, he didn’t know which. But his eyes would not stay on his feet. They kept flitting to that spot on the floor where Eddie had been standing.

He’d been there.

He’d been _ right there. _

His eyes remained there as he was hefted off the floor by his friends. Ben kicked a chair out from the dining table, and they sat Richie in it. His legs automatically moved to rest position, but he hissed and lifted his feet the moment they hit the floor.

Ah. There was the pain.

“Easy!” Bev hurried and moved another chair over for Richie to put his legs on. “Easy, we got you, hold on.”

“It’s not even that bad- Ah!” Richie’s feet twitched in just the wrong way that he felt a piece of glass shift. When he opened his eyes, Ben was nowhere to be found, but hurried footsteps in the distance told him he was off to find supplies. He turned to Bev after exhaling so hard that he wheezed. “Okay, fuck, tell me how bad it is.”

Bev snagged a hand towel from the kitchen counter and ran it under water from the sink, weary of the floor but clearly not focusing on it. She hurried back to Richie and knelt in front of his feet. “Bear with me.”

“I don’t see a bear anywh- AUGH FUCK!” Richie jerked away from the back of the chair as the hot towel patted the sole of his foot. Bev was gentle, but it still hurt like a bitch. _ “Jesus _ Christ!” Richie sat back in the chair and gripped the seat so hard he thought he might split the upholstery.

Bev worked carefully, dabbing away the blood and pulling back once she’d cleared enough from both of his feet. “It’s not bad. Just a few cuts and some glass. The blood made it look worse than it is.” She patted his calf gently. “You’re gonna live, Richie.”

Richie huffed and closed his eyes reaching a hand to cover his face. “Lucky me…”

He heard Ben return and peeked out from under his hand to see him there with a first aid kit in hand. He looked back at Bev and flinched.

She was biting her lip so hard, Richie was afraid it would bleed. She must have caught the bitterness in his voice, and she looked so haunted. So _ focused. _ As if Richie might die if she blinked or looked away. He sat up a bit and held her gaze. “Uh, thanks. For uh--”

“What the hell happened, Rich?” Ben asked, opening the box and fishing out a pair of tweezers.

Richie swallowed the rest of his words. They wouldn’t do him any good now; he’d forgotten what he was going to say. He ducked his head and stared at his lap. “I think I-... I think I just had a really bad night--”

_ “Richie.” _ Bev’s voice was a hard whisper, and it begged.

Richie looked up, barely meeting Bev’s eyes. He flicked his gaze to Ben, who looked just as concerned, and was waiting to start his work until he answered. Richie drew in a shaky breath. “...Eddie. I saw-... I saw Eddie.” His words were halted. He tried to find some distraction in the thought that he understood how Bill must feel, forcing out words that won’t come, but just saying Eddie’s name out loud made his ribcage feel like a vice.

“Oh, _ honey.” _ Bev shifted on the floor and put her hand on Richie’s knee.

“Can you _ not-!” _ Richie pressed his lips together to keep from shouting. He inhaled slowly through his nose. “Don’t call me that. Don’t call-... not again. Please.”

Bev looked down. She understood. He knew she had to. Bev always knew more than anyone should ever have to know. Ben sighed quietly and placed a hand on Richie’s ankle. “I need to get this glass out of your feet, okay?”

Richie leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah… Yeah, go for it. Sooner the better, right?” He closed his eyes. If anything, this was another distraction. Another delay. Another excuse to hold off opening his Pandora’s box of grief.

He couldn’t will away the memory of that fleeting image of Eddie. The damage had looked awful in the cave, and that was already a memory he’d never wash out, but in the daylight? In the bright sun and soft lighting of Ben’s kitchen? Richie knew he had an imagination, but this was too vivid. Too real. Those gentle, muted colors of Eddie’s shirt and jacket, darkened with deep red. That same red painting a line from his mouth against skin that was far, far too pale. Those eyes.

Richie couldn’t close his own without seeing them staring back. Wide. Questioning. Richie didn’t know if he would have any answers.

It took an hour cleaning him up. They’d bandaged his feet and gotten him to the couch without much incident besides Richie cursing every time his foot touched down. Ben cleaned the kitchen and got him another cup of coffee, and Bev stayed with him, keeping his hand trapped and tangled in both of hers. They waited in silence. Bev occasionally leaned her lips against Richie’s shoulder, a little grounding kiss when she felt his hand get too tense. He’d lean his head on hers, the best he could do to try and put her at ease despite feeling like everything was coming apart at the seams.

Eventually Ben returned with another cup of coffee, sat on Richie’s free side, and leaned on his knee. Ben said nothing. Neither did Beverly. They wanted him to start of his own volition. They were giving him time to work up to it.

They were too fucking good for him. “...I think he’s haunting me, guys.”

Ben lifted his head and looked at him, ready to listen.

Bev squeezed his hand again. “Why would he be haunting you, Richie?” Bev asked into his shoulder. It wasn’t a doubtful question.

But it was still the hardest question to answer. “Because he knows. He knows it’s my-” His eyes snapped shut, and he dropped his head against the back of the couch. “It’s my _ fault.” _ The last word barely made it past his lips.

“It is _ not _ your fault,” Ben said quickly, just as Richie expected him to.

“It is. Guys, it is, okay, I can’t-” He groaned in frustration and freed both hands to cover his face. “It’s all me, it was all fucking me, if it weren’t for me, he’d still be here, _ dammit.” _

Bev attempted to pull one of his arms down. “Don’t do that. Richie, you can’t do that to yourself-”

“I can and I will because it’s fucking true!” His arms dropped to his lap, wanting to jump up and walk away from all of this, but he’d gone ahead and shot that plan in the foot nigh literally. “He wanted to leave! You know he wanted to leave, but I made him stay. He _ listened _ to me, and he-” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m the fucker that got caught in the deadlights. I’m the one he saved, and it-... he’s-... _ Fuck!” _

Bev caught his arm again, tighter now. “No. No, none of that was you.”

“Should’ve been me.”

_ “Enough, _ Richie!” Bev inhaled slowly. “If you want to put the blame on someone, you can blame me.”

Richie snapped his head to look at her. “Don’t. Don’t, that’s-”

“I gave him that fence post,” Bev continued, unable to be stopped. She was always a force to be reckoned with.

“Bev, _ please-” _

“I told him it would kill monsters. And it didn’t. So it’s my fault.”

Richie’s eyes felt so heavy, and his face was hot. The tears were already falling now. “That’s not fair. It’s not _ true.” _

“Isn’t it? Or maybe it’s Bill’s fault for yelling at him.”

“Bev.”

“It’s Mike’s fault for lying.”

“Don’t-”

“It’s Eddie’s own fault for not believing enough.”

“Do _ not-” _

Ben gripped his shoulder, too hard but still stabilizing. “She’s trying to make a point, Richie. This is no one’s fault but _ It. _ And we got It. We _ killed _ It. We avenged him. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

Richie bit his lip and sank into the back of the couch. He brought his hands back to his face and covered it in shame. They didn’t understand. They didn’t _ get it. _ “Nobody-... Nobody ever asked me what I saw in the deadlights.”

The room got quiet again. Richie felt Ben lean with interest, but Beverly went very still. Ben’s hand shifted to rub Richie’s arm. “...What did you see?” Ben asked, carefully, like a curious child poking a wasp’s nest.

Richie let his hands drop to his lap again, but he kept his focus on the ceiling. “I saw it happen,” he finally said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “I saw him die. Exactly the way it happened. _ Exactly _ how it happened, and I didn’t stop it. I just… watched.”

When he’d been dropped to the cavern floor and lucidity had slowly returned, his mind had been heavy with the image of Eddie dead. Gone. It had been such a relief to see Eddie there, happy, smiling down at him that he didn’t even register how familiar it all had been. How moments ago he’d watched that same smile disappear as a sharp claw stabbed through his chest-- heard that bright voice so dim as it said Richie’s name as if he could do something.

And then it happened. And he watched Eddie die all over again.

“I could have stopped it,” He whispered, realizing he was trembling so hard that Ben was holding him still. “I should have, but I didn’t, and now he’s-… I think he’s haunting me because he knows.”

Ben’s grip remained sturdy in a way Richie didn’t feel he deserved. “No- Rich, it’s still not your fault. It doesn’t matter what you saw, you couldn’t have stopped what happened.”

Richie’s head dropped to face his lap. “I know that’s real fucking easy for you to just _ say, _ Ben-”

Ben brought his hand to the side of Richie’s face and forced him to look back up. “I’m saying it because it’s _ true.” _

“You don’t know-”

“I do.” Bev’s voice was soft, but it was easily the loudest thing in the room. It echoed around Richie’s ribcage and wrapped around his heart, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he turned to her.

Bev looked resolved. She smiled over a cacophony of pain that Richie felt resonating with his own. Her eyes were red from tears Richie knew were coming. Richie’s throat closed so tightly that words were impossible. His own tears beat hers.

In a scramble, he leaned to her and threw his arms around her as tightly as he could, holding her face in his shoulder. He fell right back into his agony from the night before. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, the only way he was making any noise. “I’m sorry, fuck me, Bev, I _ forgot, I’m so sorry.” _

Bev _ did _ know. She saw them all die. It hadn’t even occurred to Richie that she’d also seen what happened in the caverns as well.

“You get it now, right?” Bev asked, rubbing his back softly as he managed a weak nod. “I saw it too, baby. I saw it too, and I couldn’t stop it. We weren’t strong enough yet.” Richie was jealous of her ability to speak so clearly despite knowing for a fact that she was crying. “Eddie made us strong. He gave us what we needed. Eddie _ killed It, _ Richie. He’d never blame you. I promise he doesn’t blame you.”

Richie went slack. He nestled down and sobbed into her shoulder, going boneless in her hold. He didn’t want to hold himself up anymore. He was exhausted, he was in pain, and no matter how many gentle words either of his friends said, he couldn’t believe them.

But he couldn’t keep doing this to them. They had happy lives to go back to. He was just there, a plague on their existence. Maybe in a few days, he could fake that everything was going to be okay, and they would believe him.

Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he’d believe it as well.

He could pretend Eddie wasn’t haunting him. Maybe the reason he was seeing Eddie was his own guilt growing too much for his mind to contain. Maybe it was all in his head.

Maybe.

Maybe.

“I don’t! I don’t blame you, Richie, you stupid _ fuck!” _

Eddie hadn’t left the room. He hadn’t left Richie’s space in weeks.

Eddie’s last memory of breathing was barely mouthing the word ‘go’ at Richie, who potentially hadn’t really heard him before he got up and ran to their friends to help them belittle a monster into oblivion. And the next moment, Eddie was up there shouting with everyone. He was pushing his fury into every single insult. How dare It do this to his friends? How _ dare _ It think It could possibly be stronger than people he’d forgotten were so, _ so _ powerful? _ How dare It try? _

He’d tried to place his hand on anyone’s back, but it kept going through them like they were nothing but air. It was obvious that nobody could hear him, but maybe _ It _ could. Maybe his words were still doing damage to Pennywise’s shrinking form. Maybe that fucking clown heard him where the others couldn’t, and that was all that was important.

Where Eddie hadn’t been able to touch his friends, the heart of the monster was another matter entirely. It felt warm under his fingers, It gave way like it was nothing, and perhaps that’s all It ever was; _ nothing. _ Eddie felt the touch of one single hand in the crowd, and he’d looked up to find that he was not the only one fighting from beyond.

Stanley stood across from him, sad eyes right on him as their fingers brushed nobody’s but each other’s. Eddie smiled. He realized in that moment why it had never felt like Stan was really gone. All seven of them were here to watch this bastard die.

And then he heard his name uttered from Richie’s throat, caked with worry and urgency, and Eddie hadn’t realized that one’s heart could still drop to one’s stomach when they no longer had either of those things physically. Richie was rushing back to an empty shell. There was nothing in there anymore, but Richie was still trying.

There was nothing more awful about dying than the pain in those left behind.

As Richie clung to Eddie’s empty body, Eddie could only scream at the others to get Richie out, even though they couldn’t hear him. ‘Don’t let him stay, don’t let him die with me, get him out, please, save him, save him, leave me, I’m already gone, just go.’ All the words came out so sudden and so fast, Eddie wasn’t sure he was thinking about them before they happened.

He ran behind them the whole way out, never once taking his eyes off Richie as he fought every single step that pulled him further away from Eddie’s body. He tried to shout ‘I’m here, I’m here’ but he knew Richie couldn’t hear him. He’d never be able to hear him. Ever again.

Until today, when he did. He heard Eddie, and he _ saw him, _ like Eddie had been hoping would happen. But in the end, it just made everything worse.

“Richie. _ Richie, _ come on buddy, you heard me once, you can do it again, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fucking _ fault.” _ He was crouched in front of where his friends were sat, holding Richie and trying to fill him with love before the void of grief carved him empty forever. He wanted nothing more than to join that pile, to curl around the lanky bastard and yell at him that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t. There was nothing of him left but thought.

_ “God, _ this fucking sucks.” He stood quickly and paced away, running his hands through various objects hoping one might topple over. If he could at _ least _ figure out how to touch things, he could pick up a pen and write the man a fucking letter.

He rounded back into the kitchen for a moment to think and found Stan waiting there in all his glory-- comfortable slacks and loafers, soft cardigan, softer smile.

Eddie scowled. “What?”

“I don’t know that shouting is helping,” Stan said, hands comfortably laced in front of him like some saint.

“Well I don’t know what the fuck else I’m supposed to do! He heard me, Stan, he _ saw me, _ and then he just… couldn’t anymore.” He growled and wiped his hands over his hair in frustration. “And I didn’t _ mean _ for him to see me. Not like this, not with-” He gestured to the massive, gaping wound on his chest. “Because it _ does _ look like I’m haunting him for all the wrong reasons. I don’t get how I’m stuck post-sewer hell body, and you get to walk around looking like Mister Rogers. Didn’t you die in the bath? It’s not fair, man.” Eddie crossed his arms over the wound again and scowled to the side. “Sorry,” he added with a wince.

Stan laughed at his apology, and fuck if that sound didn’t lift Eddie’s spirits in some inconceivable way. That wasn’t supposed to be a sound he ever heard again, and here it was anyway, lighting up the damn room against all odds. “I’m not exactly an authority on how to be dead, Eddie. I’ve only got you beat by two days.” And then that amusement settled into a softer, sadder sort of happiness. “I think we are what we think we are. And maybe it has something to do with choice. I made mine, and you had none. Maybe it’s just harder for you.”

Eddie arched a brow. “What, like, you accepted your death, so you don’t have to walk around in wet shoes?”

“Naked.”

“Whatever, the point stands.”

Stan snorted again and looked down. “I don’t think it’s acceptance. But maybe it is in a way? I’m telling you, I’m not much better at this than you.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “...I’m not sure I’m ready to be okay with being dead. I probably won’t ever be.”

“I think that’s okay. There’s no right way to do this.”

“You think?”

Stan just gave a well meaning shrug.

Eddie sighed. “...I don’t get why you’re still here. You’re free, you can just go whenever you want.”

Stan hummed to himself. “I want to make sure everyone’s all right before I leave.”

“And they are! I mean mostly. Ben and Bev are great, Bill’s finally happy with his own work and so is everyone else, Mike is living it up wherever he’s gone, and Richie-” Eddie stopped himself and closed his eyes. “...Richie is exactly where he needs to be. Bev can help him, he’ll be okay eventually. Everyone’s fine.”

“Are _ you?” _

The words bounced around in Eddie’s chest like he was hollow. “I-... I’m dead, Stan, what do I matter?”

Stan smiled again. “I won’t go until you realize that you _ do.” _

Eddie swallowed.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen, and Eddie turned to see Bev hurrying into a cabinet to fetch a glass. She filled it with water and made her way back to the living room. When Eddie turned back to Stan, he wasn’t there. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Stan had been, at best, cryptically helpful since they’d begun talking again. He spoke like he had none of the answers and yet all of them at the same time. He spoke like he knew more than he was letting on, but maybe it was all in Eddie’s head. He’d not been able to know Stanley in his old age; maybe this was just how he’d been. Stan was always wise beyond his years, so it made sense that forty-year-old Stan spoke like he was a hundred year old wizard at the top of some mountain who knew exactly what you needed even before you did.

With Stan gone, and nobody left to speak to, Eddie turned his attention back to Richie. Sometimes, he walked. Other times, like now, he simply thought of a person or a place in his life, and he was there. He’d spent a fleeting ten minutes in New York checking on Myra before he left immediately following a round of phone calls involving his funeral. She’d been making an effort to ensure to put together an extravagant funeral, and not a single one of the guests she was inviting came from Eddie’s side. It wasn’t as if Myra knew much of Eddie’s friends from Derry, but he’d left Mike’s contact information with her before he left. She knew of them and was making no effort to invite them. She hadn’t even bothered finding acquaintances who might come. It wasn’t going to be a funeral to remember Eddie. It was going to be a pity party for Myra.

And so, he’d thought of Bill instead and was suddenly there, watching him finish a chapter with a smile on his face. He’d thought of Mike and found him moving into an apartment in St. Augustine and unloading a stack of books on the history of the town. He thought of Bev and found her on Ben’s boat discovering that she was very bad at fishing, but was quite happy pushing Ben overboard and diving after him like it was the quarry and not the dangerous, unrelenting ocean.

He’d thought of Richie and found him sobbing to the point of hyperventilation in a bathroom stall of some comedy club where he’d failed to make an appearance. So Eddie stuck with him.

He sat on the floor in front of Richie, and Bev half walked through him to sit back down and hand Richie the glass of water. “Here. You’re running out of liquids,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Richie’s eyes were red and heavy lidded. He sniffled and took the water from her. “Didn’t even know I had any left.”

“You guys know he’s full of hot air and not much else,” Eddie tried, arms hooked over his knees.

Bev simply rubbed Richie’s back in his silence as he downed the water. His hands were shaking as he lowered the glass, and Eddie reached out experimentally to put his hands over Richie’s to try and steady him. He, predictably, went right through him and pursed his lips in frustration.

“What would you like to do today?” Ben asked, his own hand staying heavy and warm on Richie’s shoulder.

Richie lifted the cup to his lips for another sip, and sighed. “Stop thinking?”

Bev smiled and patted Richie’s chest. “Richie, if nobody else has been able to find your off switch, it’s probably because you don’t have one.”

Richie hissed. “Ah. My double edged sword.” His hands seemed to calm a bit, and he drank the rest of the water. After a sniff and some seconds of silence just to allow himself to exist in his friends’ arms, he looked straight at the TV. “I wanna watch Sesame Street.”

And the laughter returned.

Eddie let himself smile despite everything. But there was still something in Richie’s eyes that told him this was just the beginning. He remembered what those eyes looked like when everything was still okay-- how bright they shined as he shouted ‘fuck you’ through a smile from the dinner table when they’d all found each other again. That shine was still gone.

So all Eddie could do was watch. He watched his friends watch shows in a floppy pile on the couch, almost like when they were kids watching episodes of Quantum Leap before they all passed out in a comfortable mound of love. That definitely isn’t what they would have called it when they were kids; they were all too proud to call it such a word, but that’s what it was. It was love, and nothing could break that bond they all had. Not time, not age, and definitely not some otherworldly monster.

Not even death.

Eddie found himself in front of the mirror in the guest bathroom and staring at himself in all his deathly disgrace. He let his crossed arms fall to his sides and he stared at the wound in his chest. He took in the mangled flesh and torn clothing, and the deep burn of blood, and straightened his spine.

“You are what you think you are,” he whispered to himself, staring at his pale skin and sunken eyes. “You are what you think you are,” he said, louder now.

“You are what you think you are.”

He took an unnecessary breath.

“You _ are _ what you _ think you are.” _

~

Richie didn’t want Beverly and Ben to feel like they needed to coddle him. As it stood, Ben had taken the day off to stay with him and Bev all day. Richie appreciated it immensely-- the more friends he had there to distract him, the less he got stuck in his own head-- but he couldn’t keep pulling them out of their lives like this. He was an adult, and he should be able to handle his own problems. He should be able to get himself out of this pit on his own.

And it would have to be on his own. He couldn’t drag his friends down, but it wasn’t like he could see a therapist. He couldn’t explain to a stranger than he and six friends defeated an evil clown monster when they were kids, but then it came back and they had to fight it again. There wasn’t a therapist in the world that would take him seriously. Not a soul in the world who would understand except lovely people he wouldn’t let himself burden.

And thus was his rock and matching hard place. His smiles stopped as soon as Beverly kissed his forehead and took Ben to bed in their own room. Once there was a door between them, Richie dropped his facade of being okay and shut yet another door as an added shield in the way of his own emotions. He leaned his forehead against the door and sighed, deeply and offering no relief. The silence of the room felt like an echo chamber as he listened to himself breathe. It was a chore to keep it steady.

“Fuck...” He pushed off from the door and paced across the floor of the room, thankful for the carpet as it was a softer walk for his injured feet. He grunted and hissed against the walk on the hardfloor of the bathroom to brush his teeth, and pretty soon he was sat at the edge of the bed, staring at a deep coloured wall as if it could tell him secrets.

He was so tired, but he was afraid to close his eyes. He knew that vision of Eddie, bloody and pale and scared, was all he’d see as soon as consciousness left him. He felt hollowed out. He was full of holes he didn’t know how to patch, and any moment, his head could start playing tricks on him again.

Alternatively, at any moment, Eddie would be back to haunt him again.

Richie shut his eyes, but he made no move to lay down. The silence was killing him. The idea that Eddie could still be around was almost more appealing than the idea that he also hated him now. And if he _was_ still around, Richie couldn’t leave it like this.

“Eddie…?” He waited a few seconds, not sure if he was hoping for silence or an answer. When he heard nothing, he took a deep breath and kept going. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or-... or if you’re even still here. I’m probably just insane, which given our entire _ lives, _ I think I’m entitled to it.” He swallowed his nerves. “But if you’re still here, I-... Fuck, Eds, I’m so _ sorry.” _

He took another breath to prepare. He knew there weren’t enough words in any language that would make this any better, but here he was about to try anyway. “I should have been able to save you. You were right there, but I didn’t move like an _ idiot-... _ There’s nothing I can say to bring you back, I know that, but you know I would if I could. I should’ve moved you out of the way, it should have been me. I-” He lowered his head and covered his eyes as they burned with tears. His hands were trembling again. “I _ wish _ it had been me.”

“Don’t fucking wish for that.”

Richie’s eyes snapped open and stared at the soft carpet at his feet. The silence that followed the words was even louder than the words had been, and his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t bear that sight again.

“Richie-... _ Richie,” _ the voice continued again, familiar and _ there. _ “You heard me, didn’t you? You heard me.”

“Fuck I really am going insane,” Richie whispered, mostly to himself as it was broken and shuddery.

He heard a short laugh in Eddie’s voice. “Can you see me?”

Richie’s eyes snapped shut. “No, please… _ Please, _ don’t make me, I can’t-” His lungs felt like they were shriveling up, and he curled further toward his knees, gripping his hair.

“Breathe, trashmouth.”

“I can’t see it again, I can’t-”

_ “Richie!” _ It almost sounded like his name was said with a smile. “Calm the fuck down and look at me.”

Richie didn’t want to move. He didn’t _ want _ to breathe. The guilt was still heavy in his chest, gripping his entire form like an iron maiden. Maybe this was what he deserved. He straightened up slowly and lifted his head, opening his eyes.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe that same horrible visage of Eddie, bled out and pale. Maybe even the fucking clown.

What he got instead was Eddie fresh from New York. His little red jacket, his pale blue polo buttoned way too high, and not a speck of blood on him. He didn’t even have the scar on his face from Bowers.

It was like it never happened.

And he was standing right in front of Richie.

And he was _ smiling. _

Richie’s bottom lip trembled, and he let out a weak sob of a laugh. He covered his mouth with his hand, and the tears came with no fanfare. “H-Hey, Eds.”

Eddie’s smile parted with his own laugh. “Hey, asshole.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> All right brain do me a fucking solid and stick with this until it's done for the love of god give me that just _once_ please


End file.
